The Valkyries - #10
The Valkyries - #10
Called to Become a Warrior of the Light
It was slow going, plodding my way through the first book I read in Portuguese. I consumed As Valkírias with a large side order of the Portuguese-English dictionary.
As Valkírias, the first book I read in Portuguese. Cover art by Christina Oiticica.
The story was interesting to me; perhaps subconsciously I chose it not only because it was set in the familiar turf of the American Southwest, but also because only a few months earlier I had similarly left home to undertake a quest in unfamiliar terrain.
In The Valkyries, the author Paulo Coelho tells an autobiographical story of the 40 days he and his wife Christina spent in the Mojave Desert hoping to accomplish a task given to him by “J”, his Master in the magical tradition in which he studies. The task was to encounter his Guardian Angel. I had just spent the entire five weeks of my 1992 vacation, 35 days, on a pilgrimage to Tibet, as a sidekick to Vijali and her World Wheel project. The harsh, starkly beautiful, potentially dangerous Mojave Desert; the harsh, starkly beautiful potentially dangerous Himalayas. Like Paulo, Vijali had a task, an objective to fulfill, but we could only figure out how to achieve it by making the journey. There were teachers on my journey to Tibet, and Paulo sought out teachers in the Desert. But much of our learning took place through the interpersonal dynamics with our traveling companions.
I found the story entertaining, but I didn’t really like the character of Paulo. I thought he was arrogant, self-centered, petulant with his wife, and had that attitude of so many Brazilian men that whether or not they were married, any desirable woman was fair game. I gave him credit for honesty if this was an accurate self-portrait. Christina, on the other hand, was a woman I could admire. Smart and also emotionally intelligent. Willing to take risks. I related to her struggle of feeling a bit out of her depth surrounded by adepts in a spiritual tradition. And I cheered for her strength in standing and fighting for what she cared about.
Because I could only read slowly, a little bit at a time, I also had time to notice the coincidences that kept appearing, conversations in real life mirroring conversations in the book. They nagged at me like a slow drip that keeps irritating until you decide you had better address the leak before a section of the ceiling collapses in. I felt so uneasy that I mentioned it to a few friends, asking what they thought the coincidences meant.
One night I had dinner with António Peticov - Petí or Toninho as his friends affectionately call him - at his loft in New York. During the military dictatorship in Brazil, most of my friends in their forties or fifties who were creators or writers, anyone with a voice really, were thrown into prison or into exile overseas or both. Petí had lived in both London and New York City, and his English was fluent. We engaged in long, animated conversations about everything from philosophy of art to world religions. Like many more intellectual Brazilians, he was familiar with the success of author Paulo Coelho, but had never deigned to read any of his books.
This António Peticov print hangs in my living room, a gift from the artist.
I told Petí about the coincidences. In particular, I was reading a part of the book where Paulo recalls the period in his life when he dabbled in black magic, following a figure who called himself The Beast whose number is 666. I was feeling spooked because the number 666 kept showing up just as I got to this section of the book. Much of Peticov’s art is based on sacred geometry and I asked him what he believed about alchemy. Is magic real? Is evil just our personal and collective human pathology or are there larger forces of good and evil beyond our human realm? At some level I always had felt the latter to be true. That’s why I was so fascinated with A Wrinkle in Time as a child.
We pulled books from his shelf that referenced 666, the number of the Beast. We talked about art as a potential force for good, for healing. At some point I realized it was getting late, time for me to walk back across the Village to Saint Lukes Place.
For no visible reason, halfway home I found myself sprawled on an empty sidewalk. I might have just tripped but had the weird feeling I had been pushed. Back at the apartment, the light on my answering machine was blinking (remember land lines?). Two messages. The first was obviously a wrong number. Delete. The second was the same caller, insistent that the intended recipient of the message call him back right away. “My number is 666…” the voice instructed. I panicked. Delete.
I slowly washed my face and brushed my teeth, procrastinating like a kid afraid to turn out the lights because of the monster under the bed. It was already past midnight and too late to call a friend for reassurance. I tried calling Oh Shinnah in Colorado but got no answer and left a message. It was an anxious, mostly sleepless night.
Two days later I finally reached Oh Shinnah. She apologized. She never received my message; the cats deleted all her messages. Ugh – I pictured the cats at our house in Manitou Springs. BLACK cats. I recounted the story. Oh Shinnah’s reaction was calm.
She explained that with all my recent spiritual growth, my light was shining more brightly, and both sides were taking notice. She said it would be good to read about it, and meditation would help. But the main thing to remember was that although the real battle is being fought in the world of the invisible, I would have to be more impeccable in my daily actions as well.
As we talked about it, I begin to get more insight. I had dealt with personal fears, so now could look at universal suffering. I had made a pledge, and was now being called upon to recognize and help fight in this battle.
Later I meditated and then journaled the strong images that arose:
I find myself in front of a dark figure. I look for the light and I myself am it and there is no reason to fear. The dark figure can teach me too by my observation. I get a blessing. I am strong. I feel all the Buddha energy and all the native prayers and all the artists and all the tears.
If art is the truth and we are the Beauty, we were put on this planet so Beauty can be perceived. The psychological task is the spiritual task. Our growth, our wholeness, our ability to perceive the Beauty.
A few days later, I finished The Valkyries. And was stunned to read these words in the Epilogue (actually, in my journal I copied the lines from the Portuguese version; since I am writing now in English, this is quoted from the 1995 American edition):
Since the combat will take place for the most part in the astral plane, it will be our guardian angels who will wield the swords and shields, protecting us from danger, and guiding us to victory. But our responsibility is huge as well: We, at this moment in history, must develop our own powers. We must believe that the universe doesn’t end at the walls of our room. We must accept the signs, and follow our heart and our dreams.
We are responsible for everything that happens in this world. We are the warriors of the light. With the strength of our love and of our will, we can change our destiny, as well as the destiny of many others.
OK, message received already! It felt like I needed to acknowledge receipt, but how?
On the copyright page, in small print at the bottom, was an address for author mail. I decided to write a letter in my grade-school level Portuguese, describing what had happened. I told Mr. Coelho I hoped his books would be translated into English, as I felt what he was writing about was important and there would be an audience for it in the U.S.
I had no idea how to purchase a stamp or mail a letter in Brazil. No way I would ask anyone in São Paulo office, but my friend Gabriela who ran our Rio office was just crazy enough that she wouldn’t judge me. She asked to see the letter and made one small correction. Then she asked for one of my business cards, folded the letter around it, tucked it into an envelope. “Address it and toss it in office mail,” she instructed. Typically Brazilian problem-solving: including a business card made it official business mail.
Mission accomplished. End of story. Or so I thought.
Six weeks later, I was sitting in my office in New York. The phone on my desk rang (remember land lines?). “Beth Robinson,” I answered crisply.
“Hello! This is the Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho. I got your wonderful letter and it was an omen, a sign! I am calling you from Miami, where my U.S. publisher is launching The Alchemist in English. My Brazilian publisher, my wife, my assistant, my agent, and other friends are here too, and I would like to invite you to join us.”
Not what I expected.
♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️